


Run Run Run Away (Buy Yourself Another Day)

by smokeandjollyranchers



Series: Kingdom Come [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Assembly!Bren, Cult Leader! Jester, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Graphic Violence, Smut, This one has actual smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 21:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeandjollyranchers/pseuds/smokeandjollyranchers
Summary: Wulf is quiet, longer than Bren expects him to be, and he feels his pulse increase, like he’s anticipating a fight, like Wulf might turn him in. Instead, Wulf gets back up, coming to stand in front of him. Bren doesn’t flinch when Wulf reaches for him, but he does when he feels Wulf’s lips against his forehead, instead of a fist to his face. “I know what you’re thinking, and you would never survive it. I know you think you’re strong, but you couldn’t kill me, and you couldn’t kill Astrid, and he would send us after you. Be smart, Bren. Please. Astrid and I can’t kill you either.”He leaves, and Bren sits down on his bed, bringing the package to his nose again and inhaling.Wulf is right, of course. They’ll all die together, when it’s finally time.





	Run Run Run Away (Buy Yourself Another Day)

Bren doesn’t hate Xhorhas. 

It’s treasonous to even have the thought, but he still watches the sunrise over the wastes the first rays of light igniting across the frost, making the dawn bright as midday. His breath is lit by the dawn and it’s like breathing  _ fire _ , and he stops to smile. The wind pushes his hair across his face, and he realizes it’s getting a little long. He needs to cut it when he gets back. Jester’s  _ preference _ for longer hair has him keeping his hair almost a little  _ too _ long. When he saw Astrid last, just getting back from her own mission, she had stared at him for near twenty seconds before she walked away shaking her head. 

_ You’re so stupid _ . 

Bren is stupid, but it’s too late to do anything about it. He keeps going to her when she calls, he keeps coming to her when he’s broken, he keeps falling asleep next to her, he keeps thinking about her when he’s hundreds of miles away, he keeps dreaming of emerald scarred marble and the crashing of the ocean. It’s  _ terrifying _ . 

He’s a  _ good _ ...soldier? Monster? Killer? Hound? Whatever is left of him, he knows he’s just, he knows he does this for the Empire, he knows how  _ necessary  _ it all is. Bren never questions his orders, he didn’t question the crystals, no matter how badly they still burn under his skin. He didn’t question his parent’s execution order, though it had nearly  _ destroyed _ him to carry it out. But they were  _ traitors _ , they betrayed their Empire, and their family and  _ him _ , and…

Bren takes a breath, tasting smoke on his tongue. 

He never questions what the Empire needs from him. 

_ But now _ , he thinks, cracking his knuckles.  _ Now there’s violet eyes in all of the accused and it doesn’t feel right anymore _ . 

* * *

Jester runs her paintbrush across the stone, only vaguely listening to Samson talking to her. 

Samson is patient, but even  _ they _ have their days, and they cross their arms, brow tweaking as they look up at her. “Priestess, what did I just tell you?”

“Oh, very important things.” Jester bites her lip, tail swishing slowly, letting her think.”About holy days and people we both know-”

“Jester, I’m really going to need you to pay attention.” They tell her through gritted teeth, pretending it’s a smile. 

“I’m  _ sorry _ , I’m just a  _ little _ distracted.” Jester sighs, setting her paintbrush down and wiping her hands off on her dress. “I’m listening, I promise.”

“What’s distracting you? Your birthday or-” Sam doesn’t say it, but they  _ want _ to, so badly. Jester keeps a pleasant smile on her face, terrified of having this conversation. Sam just stares at her, and Jester shrugs. 

“There’s just a lot happening right now. Can’t you feel it? The ocean is trembling.” 

Sam looks out to the ocean, their lips drawing into a frown. They close their eyes, listening, and Jester wonders if they can  _ feel _ that too, the shaking from deep underneath them. Sam frowns deeper, opening their eyes to look at Jester. “That doesn’t feel very  _ positive _ .”

“It might not be.” Jester shivers, the feeling almost a static in the air. “But something is going to tip the scales, and it’s going to be chaos again. It’s our warning. We need to pay attention right now.”

Sam looks at her, and then  _ narrows _ their eyes. “Are you _ fucking _ with me?”

Jester grins, obnoxious giggles slipping from her mouth. “ _ I’m sorry _ . You were just so  _ serious _ . Everything is  _ fine _ , I’m thinking about Alice, not my birthday, that’s dumb in comparison.” 

“You’re the worst sometimes.”

“I  _ know _ , it’s why I’m the High Priestess.” Jester bats her eyes at Sam, pointing to a part of the wall she’s getting base colors down. “This is where I’m gonna put in Alannah and Alice, when Alice is  _ official _ , and we have our first  _ wedding _ , and the Traveler has a  _ paladin _ .”  Jester swoons, resting against the wall, her hand thrown over her chest. 

Samson gives a sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose, knowing just as well as Jester did that she had just leaned into some wet paint. “I  _ suppose _ you’re right, this is a very important occasion. I’m sure that gut full of dread I felt was only due to your prank, and not an actual impending doom.” 

“I’m sure that’s  _ exactly _ what that means.”

Having exhausted their previously unending patience, Sam leaves Jester to herself, and she turns back to her mural. Time passes, an hour, another, and she works steadily. A warm wind pushes through the sanctuary, and Jester shivers, turning towards the ocean. She watches the horizon, a swell of a storm, miles away. 

One of her cans of paint falls over next to her, and she  _ jumps _ , turning back to her wall. There’s a green handprint on the wall that wasn’t there a moment ago, and Jester blinks, scanning the wall for what changed. She sees  _ all _ of them, her friends, her family, on a wall.  _ Hanging.  _

The paint is still wet; a deep Empire blue. 

Jester jumps back with a gasp, tripping over her paint cans and falling onto her back. She groans, opening her eyes again to look at the corner, which is clean again, and she glances over to where the hand print was. The vibrant green paint was now black, but the Traveler  _ had _ just been here. 

With a groan, she lays back down in the paint, covering her eyes. “ _ Fuck _ .”

She’s sure no one hears her tears over the oncoming storm. 

* * *

Bren pokes at the scar in the middle of his chest, frowning. 

He doesn’t cover himself up when he hears the door open, and Wulf walks into his room like he owns the place. He gives Bren a once over, eyes resting on the scar. “Those hounds could  _ not _ get enough of you,  _ ja? _ ”

Bren glares at him, running his fingers down the length of it. “It’s  _ memorable _ . It’s  _ recognizable _ . Why is it still on me?”

“You must of pissed off the old man.” Wulf tells him, sitting down on Bren’s bed. He reaches into his bag, and pulls out a small, heady package. He tosses it to Bren, who lights up when he brings it to his nose and inhales. 

“ _ Danke _ , Wulf, thank you.”

“I mean, I was in Emon anyways, but why did you need it?” Wulf asks, flopping back on Bren’s bed. From where he’s standing, he can see messes of bruises on Wulf’s chest, and he crosses the room, tugging up his shirt. Wulf slaps at his hands, but Bren is staring at a mess of barely healed injuries. “Get off me, Bren.”

“You look like shit.” Bren frowns, and Wulf scoffs, pressing his foot to the center of Bren’s chest and pushing him back a couple steps. 

“Who doesn’t? Have you seen Astrid recently? She took a hit on her mission too.”

“Do…” Bren pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Do you ever get sick of this? All the...pain?”

Wulf is quiet, longer than Bren expects him to be, and he feels his pulse increase, like he’s anticipating a fight, like Wulf might turn him in. Instead, Wulf gets back up, coming to stand in front of him. Bren doesn’t flinch when Wulf reaches for him, but he does when he feels Wulf’s lips against his forehead, instead of a fist to his face. “I know what you’re thinking, and you would never survive it. I know you think you’re strong, but you couldn’t kill me, and you couldn’t kill Astrid, and he would send us after you. Be  _ smart _ , Bren. Please. Astrid and I can’t kill you either.”

He leaves, and Bren sits down on his bed, bringing the package to his nose again and inhaling. 

Wulf is right, of course. They’ll all die together, when it’s finally time. 

* * *

She feels a hand in the back of her shoulders, in the middle of the night. 

Jester rolls towards the hand, and listens, intently.  _ What did that mean?  _

The Traveler’s voice is just a whisper in her consciousness, she strains to hear him in her sleep.  _ Something is coming, be careful. I don’t understand it myself.  _

_ What do I do? _

There’s a crash, and Jester jerks away to just barely catch the flash of lightning, the cliff rumbling with angry thunder. Jester looks around wildly, but she’s alone, just like she was when she went to bed. 

She wraps herself back up into her blanket, and tries to fall asleep again. It’s cold tonight. Jester sniffs, whispering a spell into her hands. She exhales, small green sparks trapped in her palms. 

_ Hiiiiiiiiiiii Bren. I miss you. Be safe okay? Don’t do anything stupid. There’s a huge storm tonight and it’s cold and I wish you were- _

Her spell cuts her off and Jester frowns, nuzzling her face into the pillow. He doesn’t answer her, and Jester sniffs. Right before sleep claims her again, she can hear his voice. Low and groggy with either sleep or blood loss, she isn’t sure. 

_ I would give anything to be there next to you, Lavorre. Hope you know that.  _

* * *

Bren hides in the City of Beasts, the shadows as effective as a spell. 

He wonders, keeping his eyes open for his contact. It’s hard to tell exactly  _ which _ one of these monsters was the monster he was waiting to meet. His half orc disguise keeps eyes off him, once he leaves the shadows, eyes scanning the market place. None of the other people milling about are looking around, none of them seem to be waiting for anyone. 

It feels like a trap, and Bren is about ready to call it, when he stops at a stall, looking the jars over. He sees something  _ perfect _ , and he trades a couple coins with the goblin running the stand. She wraps it up for him carefully, and he thanks her, slipping it into his robes. He’s past impatient, and he wants this mission to either hurry up and fail or the contact needs to appear in the next few minutes. 

He’s needed at a party, a country away. 

There’s a noise, and he looks up, two things catching his eye nearly simultaneously. First, he sees a green cloak and a sweet looking firbolg apologizing as she helps pick up a basket of fruit she accidentally knocked over. The person she ran into waves her off at first, but watches her, carefully, after that. Her face tilts, and she fixes her gaze on the firbolg that Bren realizes he  _ recognizes _ as Alice. He slips into the shadows again, watching Alice apologize once more, before ambling off. 

Bren swears under his breath, watching the girl walk away. 

Part of him wants to run after her, and chastise her for not paying enough attention, for not noticing how  _ strange _ that interaction was, how that person she had run into was still watching her. Part of him wants to chase her, but he doesn’t. They don’t mix business, and it’s better she not see him anyways. 

He stands in the shadows, watching her until she disappears, his contact obviously not coming. But Bren waits, as long as he can, before he’s back to the shadows, and out of sight. 

If that girl has any sense, she’ll leave Xhorhas, and soon. 

* * *

Jester is 21. 

That’s young, she thinks, all things considered. She has members of her flock who are older than her, their lives are longer and their stories are better. She wonders why he picked her, sometimes. What the Traveler sees in her, that makes him trust her with his people. Fingers lace through her hair, Alannah and Sam winding ribbons into braids. 

Sam pokes her shoulder, their eyebrows knitting together. “You seem…”

“Really fucking sad.” Alannah answers for them, securing the edge of the braid. “Especially on your birthday.” 

“I’m okay.” Jester promises, smiling weakly. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, but I’m okay, I promise.” 

“Is there anything we can help you with?” Sam asks, carefully making sure the green and pink ribbons remained in their pattern as they work, while Alannah continues winding her ribbons in whatever order she grabs them off the ground. 

Jester shakes her head, putting a much better smile on her face. “No, I’m alright. Thank you though, both of you. I  _ really _ appreciate all the help you give me. I think I might just be getting  _ old _ .”

Sam, who has at least seven years on Jester glares at her, their eyebrow raised. Jester beams at them, and sits as patiently as she can while her hair is finished. Once the ribbons are woven into her hair, the two of them sit back to regard her, a strange pride in their faces. “You look-”

“ _ Beautiful _ .” Alannah breathes, her hands against her chest. “He isn’t going to know what hit him.”

Sam rolls their eyes, cleaning up their supplies as they go. “It isn’t  _ for _ him.”

“So?”

“Thank you.” Jester grins at both of them. “Either way, I look amazing, and it’s because of you both.”

Alannah beams, and Sam blushes, just a little, their hand rubbing the back of their neck. “I-If you’re ready, I believe we have a feast to begin.”

Jester follows them both out, one last look at the ocean from her room before she goes. The sky is clear, and birds float upon the wind, calling to each other softly. There’s no sign of clouds or trouble, nothing but a peaceful roar of waves beneath the cliffs. 

She inhales, letting the salt and scent relax her, and she follows her friends out. They’re right, today is a feast, today is her birthday, and if there was ever a day to relax a little, it was today. Her hands wrap around her holy symbol, and she closes her eyes, whispering into the air around her. 

_ Thank you for another year, bless us with one more _ . 

The wind picks up behind her, and she hears the Traveler’s familiar chuckle.  _ Same wish every year, it’s the only consistent thing about you, Jester Lavorre.  _

* * *

Bren arrives in Nicodranas as the sun begins to set. 

It paints the walls of Jester’s temple in a bright golden light, accented by the emeralds in the walls. He feels the same gem under his skin itch, but he ignores it, too concerned with finding Jester, and the strange  _ peace _ he feels settling into his mind. There’s always a lightness when he leaves the Empire, something that allows him to marginally relax his shoulders, like the shadows here  _ weren’t _ watching him. It’s been hard to trust the shadows ever since he became one. 

Music plays, and he follows it to the main sanctuary, where nearly the entire cult was gathered, some of them in various states of intoxication. The only other tiefling was playing a violin, smiling as people made room to do simple jigs, laughter echoes off the walls, and Bren realizes how  _ warm _ these people are.  _ You’re here too much _ , a voice in his head whispers, somehow sounding like Wulf, Astrid  _ and _ Ikithon at the same time.  _ You’re losing your grip. _

Their voices don’t plague him long, not once his eyes pick out Jester, surrounded by a group of her friends. She looks... _ ethereal _ . Her smile is so bright, it surpasses the sun itself. Green and pink ribbons weave through her braids, adding to the rainbow that is Jester Lavorre. She throws her head back in laughter, and he feels something in his chest squeeze. Bren smiles, despite himself, watching her bask in the love of her people.  _ Oh, Ermandrud. You’ve got it  _ bad _.  _

He watches for a few moments, leaning against the warm stone of the walls, until Jester looks up, noticing him. Her face lights up as she makes her way over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “ _ Hiiiiiiiiiii Bren _ !”

“Happy birthday, Lavorre.” he grins into her shoulder. “Sorry i’m so late.”

“Oh, you aren’t late yet.” She assures him, pulling away enough that see can see his face. “But you’re  _ close _ .” Her eyes scan his face, making sure he’s  _ okay _ , making sure she can’t see any pain, or that he isn’t hiding any injuries. Bren is an asshole on his best day, but he’s made sure that he’s completely healthy for  _ this. _ It’s the least he’s able to do for her. She smiles when she realizes he is, in fact, okay. Her hand trails down his arm until their fingers can lace together, and she squeezes. “You want something to drink?”

“Surprised you have any left.” Bren looks over at Kovak, the old gnoll sleeping against the wall, an empty bottle of mead in his hands. Jester giggles, tugging him away from the sanctuary, and towards their kitchen. 

“I don’t know if there’s  _ a lot _ left, but I can probably find you something.” She assures him. The halls get quieter as they walk, and Bren smiles to himself, listening to Jester catching him up on what he’s missed so far. Nothing  _ too _ major, she assures him, just happy people drinking and singing. They make their way into the empty kitchen, and she pulls herself up on the counter, pointing to the food on the table. “ _ Eat _ , you’re looking skinny again.”

“I’m the exact same size as I always have been.” He rolls his eyes, but makes sure she can see him eat something. Jester finds a bottle in the back of one of their cupboards, and she sets it on the table next to him. 

“Here! My mama gave this to me when I finally finished the temple, but you know, I’m not much of a drinker. She says it’s more sweet than anything. It’s good luck, here in Nicodranas, to gift mead for big life changes, and everyone can always use more luck.”

Bren scoffs, looking at her with the most confused look. “I’m not going to drink  _ your _ special mead, on  _ your _ birthday, without you.”

“But it would make  _ me _ happy.” She counters, crossing her arms. “Isn’t that the  _ most _ important thing?”

Bren sighs, carefully unwrapping the top of the bottle. “Split a glass with me?”

She thinks about it for a moment, then nods, kicking her feet. “Alright, I’m curious anyways. My mama said it was  _ really _ good. Supposed to taste like these berries that only grow in Port Damali.” 

She hands him a glass and he fills it, handing it to her once he’s filled it. “You first, you said it was good luck, right?” 

Jester rolls her eyes pretty dramatically, but takes a tiny sip from the glass. Her curious face falls quickly, and she wrinkles her nose. “ _ Ugh _ , it’s so…gross. I don’t know how people drink.” 

Bren bites back his laughter, taking the glass from her. The mead is cold on his tongue, and there’s a sweetness to it he wasn’t expecting. There’s the soft honey taste he’s expecting, and another red berry on top of it. It’s  _ delicious _ . “It’s actually really good.” 

“You can have it, then.” She sticks her tongue out. “Not my favorite. Bren shrugs, taking another drink as he reaches for his bag. 

“I have something else for you, then.” 

“Oh, like a present?” She tries to sound nonchalant, but her tail begins to twist with excitement, and he has to tamper down the fondness in his chest. 

“You thought I wouldn’t get you anything?” 

“Well it’s rude to just  _ assume _ things.” 

Carefully, he pulls a couple wrapped parcels from where he’s stashed them, and places them in her hands. “Well, in this case, you assumed right.” 

“I mean,” Jester grins at him, her teeth softly biting the tip of her tongue. “I usually am.” 

She unwraps them carefully, her fingers undoing string knots as Bren sips at the mead, watching the crease in eyebrows grow deeper as she works. She pulls the package of cinnamon sticks out first, and her entire face lights up. She brings the package up to her nose and inhales, a soft smile on her face. “Bren—“

He shrugs, drinking to hide his blush. “It’s from Emon, I believe you were telling me that’s the only cinnamon worth cooking with.” 

“Well it  _ is _ but—“ She smiles at him, soft and  _ bright _ . He’s not sure he can handle her goodness directed at him like this. 

“There’s more.” 

“You just don’t want me to be  _ nice _ to you.” Jester argues, but she carefully begins to unwrap the second package as well. Bren drains his glass, and refills it at Jester’s order, the chill leaving him feeling a little more relaxed with each sip. 

Inside, there’s a chipped glass jar filled with a soft purple honey, and Jester’s jaw drops. “It’s  _ beautiful _ .” 

“There’s these flowers in Xhorhas,” Bren tells her, taking another sip,  _ shocked _ by the way his heart pounds against his chest at the happiness on her face. “Purple pollen. So, the bees make pur-“

Her hand reaches for his shirt and she pulls him toward her, lips against his. Bren sets his glass down on the counter behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist. Jester kisses him  _ fiercely,  _ her arms around his neck. When she pulls away to breathe, she smiles, her eyes bright. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever been given.” 

He blushes, forcing himself not to look away. “It’s...nothing I-“ 

“Bren, it’s  _ not _ nothing. It’s  _ perfect _ . I love it, so so much.” She tells him, her tone leaving no room for argument. “ _ Thank you.” _

He kisses her again, because  _ this _ is something he can handle, he runs his tongue across her bottom lip and she sighs, cold fingers slipping under his shirt. Her nails trail his sides softly and he sighs into their kiss, one his hands coming to her face, to kiss her deeper. Jester wraps one of her legs around his waist, pulling him against her and the counter. 

“ _ Jester _ ,” he warns her, dropping his head to her shoulder. He presses a couple kisses to her neck, feeling her shiver against him. “Any more and I’m going to steal you from your party.” 

“I think I can sneak away.” Jester grins coyly, sliding off the counter, pressing up against him as she does. “I mean, that’s why I let them all get stupid drunk, right? So I can be sneaky.”

Bren shivers at her cold skin pressing against him. “No one is sneakier than you, Lavorre.”

* * *

Jester’s hands curl into her sheets. 

She tries to keep her breathing smooth, like Bren  _ isn’t _ driving her insane right now, like the feeling of his tongue up her neck, or burnt fingers brushing her nipples isn’t causing her to shiver. She feels him smirk against her skin, and she knows it’s pointless to pretend he  _ hasn’t _ noticed, not with those half lidded eyes looking at her  _ like that _ , like the might never forget the way her teeth sinks into her bottom lip when he softly pushes her dress up her hips. He softly presses the heel of his hand against her clit and Jester gasps, watching the way Bren’s dark eyes watch  _ her _ . He commits every sound she makes to memory, like he’s gathering information, like he’s cataloguing her. 

There are few cases Jester makes in favor of the Empire,  _ ever _ , but the fact that Bren breathes the same time she does makes her almost consider  _ not _ hating that place. 

Almost. 

He kisses her collarbones, her breasts, her stomach, the lower he goes the slower he moves, and she whimpers, moving her hips against his hand. “You’re such a  _ tease _ .”

“ _ Ja _ ,” He scoffs, like it’s a fact. “I don’t have a lot of nights where I  _ know _ I have the time to work you over. Humor me.”

“ _ Fuck _ me.” Jester counters, her voice a little too breathless for him to take her seriously. Instead, he kneels at the foot of her bed, hands resting on her sides, and pulling her toward him. His tongue leaves goosebumps in its path. He’s so  _ warm _ . Her hand rests in his hair, and he smiles, leaving a trail of marks on both of her inner thighs. Jester idly thinks she should be careful with how many marks he leaves on her, but it feels  _ so good _ , she can’t bare asking him to stop. “You’ll kill me like this.”

He looks up at her, smirking as he kisses her thigh one last time, before throwing that leg over his shoulder. Rather than answer her, Bren’s tongue runs up her cunt, torturously slow, and Jeter catches her tongue in her teeth. He keeps his slow pace, one single finger curling inside her between languid licks, and she’s growing  _ impatient _ . She needs to learn how to create patience inside herself, it’s a trait associated with good leaders, and she wants to be remembered as a good leader, but  _ if Bren doesn’t do something about this feeling inside her she’s going to absolutely fall apart.  _ . 

“I’ll remember this,” she hisses, carefully running her fingers through his hair. “When it’s  _ your _ turn, and I’m forty five minutes into going down on  _ you _ , and you’re  _ begging me _ , I’m going to remember this smug look on your face, and I’m going to destroy you for it.”

That smug face is resting against her thigh, though she sees it melt, just for a moment, into something so  _ fond _ , it causes a jolt of arousal though her. “For all your threats, I’ve not yet heard you say please.”

“You’re such a  _ bastard _ .”

“And yet.” He grins, a second finger finally sliding inside her and Jester sighs, letting her head rest on her bed. His tongue flicks against her clit, and she gaps, wondering how tight she can squeeze her thighs before Bren is in  _ actual _ danger of breaking his neck.  _ You could just heal him _ , a voice in her head says, but she tries to ignore the temptation, too focused on the way he curls his fingers in  _ just that way _ . 

“Fuck!” She hisses, hips pushing against him. He keeps his pace, working her over slowly. Jester knows she could’ve come by now, but he’s so... _ determined _ to work her over, she isn’t able to demand he finish her. Instead, she tries her best to relax her brow and  _ let _ herself be tortured. Gently, he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks softly, and she  _ whimpers _ . “Bren?”

He looks up at her, tongue tracing his lips. “ _ Ja _ ?”

“Please?” She mumbles, eyes never leaving his. “I  _ really _ want to be kissing you right now, but I also  _ really _ want you to finish this, because it’s  _ amazing _ , and I…”

She doesn’t have to keep asking him, he’s back to work, but this time his pace is  _ fair _ , and Jester feels the familiar  _ pull _ towards him, for him, until he’s consumed her entire sense of self, and her back arches off her bed. Jester comes with his fingers inside her, and his mouth slanted over hers, and she tastes herself on his tongue. She kisses his deeply,  _ desperately _ , and he meets her, wrapping his arms around her. 

“Fuck.” He whispers into her skin, breaking for air. “You…”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t... _ you shouldn’t _ ...be able to do that.” He tells her, running his thumb over her cheekbone. “You shatter resolves like they’re made of glass.”

She tilts her head, watching his eyes, the way he smiles at her, and the pressure of his cock pushing against her hip. “Do you...do you hate that?”

“...No.” He blinks, that same thumb stroking her bottom lip. “I don’t...I don’t hate it at all.” 

Jester kisses him again, softly, and he melts into her embrace. She takes his lead, her hands slowly stroking his sides as she slips them underneath his shirt. The fabric pulls over his head easily, and her fingers trace down his ribs, his chest. Jester places her palm over the scar in the center of Bren’s chest, and he sighs, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re so  _ dangerous _ .”

“If I want to love you, would you let me?”

He looks at her, shocked. The last time she remembers him looking at her like this, she’d asked him to leave his people. But then, he’d looked for her door, he looked for the exit, he looked like he might run. But now...he waits, he stares at her, and if she’s not wrong, he’s  _ smiling _ at her. As far as Bren’s smiles go, this isn’t obvious, it’s a small curl to his lip, but mostly, it’s the flash in his eyes, that same fondness she saw before. 

“I...I’m not easy to love.” 

“I think that’s  _ my _ call to make.” She smiles, guiding one of his hands back to her hips, so he can finish pulling off her dress. “I know you’re dangerous, and I know you’re risking a lot each time you come here, and I know this...isn’t easy for you…but…”

Jester flips them, pinning him underneath her, her hand carefully sliding across his forearms, the chill of the crystals  _ bitter _ compared to the heat of him. “But I’m  _ better  _ when you’re here, and I don’t want you to stop coming here. And I _ want  _ to love you, but only if you’d let me.”

“What if I can’t? What if I’m too fucked up to even let you?” He asks her, eyes watching her careful. He’s not...upset, he’s just curious, like he’s not even considered she might love him, and he hasn’t realized he  _ already  _ loves her. 

Jester kisses him, softly, her whisper against his lips. “I would let you break my heart, a thousand times over, if it means you’d be mine.” 

Bren kisses her again, this time with  _ purpose _ . His hands slide up her sides, leaving goosebumps in his path. Jester sighs into the kiss, her hips moving slowly against his while they kiss, his breath hitching softly. “I...I can’t always...promise...I can  _ be _ there.” 

“You don’t have to.” She assures him, her forehead to his. “I don’t have to be your first choice. Just let me love you, and love me back.” 

“Oh, Jester.” He grins, feeling her hand find the strings of his pants, tugging. “I’ve been loving you back.”  

“But you’ll let me love you, too?” 

“.... _ Ja. _ ” He sighs, eyelids fluttering shut as she palms him through his trousers. “I’ll let you love me too.” 

She squeals, kissing his hard before she returns to her task of sliding his pants down his legs. “Good. I mean, I was gonna love you  _ regardless _ , but at least this way I have permission.” 

“You’re…” he pauses, muscles of his stomach twitching as Jester crawls on top of him, her thighs settling on either side of his hips. “You’re  _ really _ to good for me, Lavorre.” 

She smiles at him, her hand wrapping around his cock and holding him so she can sink down  _ slowly,  _ her teeth in her lip as she watches him beneath her. “It’s so you’ll pick me  _ first. _ ” She giggles. 

Bren groans, burnt tips of his fingers digging into his her hips as she rocks slowly. “ _ Du bist immer meine erste Wahl _ .” 

Jester gasps, bracing her hands on his chest as she moves, _ tantalizingly slow _ . Bren sighs under her, a small smile on his face. “It’s revenge then,  _ Schatz _ ?”

“Revenge is a shitty word.” She grins, keeping her non-vengeful pace. “You just happened to show me how  _ fucking wonderful _ taking your time can be.”

There’s a pointed roll of her hips and both of them gasp together, Jester’s fingers digging into his chest and Bren shudders, sitting up, their lips only inches apart. With the change in position, Jester wraps her arms around his neck, slanting her mouth over his.  _ Fine _ , _ fine, okay so she’s impatient _ . She doesn’t have Bren’s unending patience, she just wants him  _ against her _ . Bren is more than happy to indulge her, flipping them again so he towers over her. She’s kissing him again, and he moans, setting a pace that has her sinking her teeth into his lip. 

He groans, his hand threading in her hair. His forehead drops to her collarbone and he grips her hip, panting. “ _ Du bist immer meine erste Wahl _ .”

“T-tell me what that means.” Jester whimpers, wrapping her legs around his waist,  _ reveling _ in the way he moans into her skin. Bren smiles against her throat, moving against her relentlessly. Jester whimpers, her back arching against the bed. “ _ Bren _ .”

“You have to  _ come _ .” He murmurs in her ear, his hand slipping between them to play with her clit. “Then I’ll tell you.”

“Mean.” She whimpers, biting his shoulder as he rubs against her, trying to fight off the orgasm building inside her. “ _ Du bist immer meine erste Wahl _ .”

Her pronunciation is  _ terrible _ , and the Zemnian trips out of her mouth clumsily, but Bren looks at her with the most open expression she’s  _ ever _ seen on his face, and he kisses her with an open desperation that knocks down the rest of her defenses, and she feels herself fall apart under him.  Bren smothers his moans in her her neck, trying to hold himself above her, but he collapses. Spent, they try and adjust themselves so they aren’t smothering each other, but fingers remain firmly laced together. 

“Hey Bren?” Jester whispers, eyes half closed. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He throws his free arm over his eyes, barely hiding his smile. “Your Zemnian is  _ awful _ .” 

“It’s a  _ hard _ language!” She pouts. “ _ Teach _ me then.” 

She watches him bite his lip for a moment, then he moves his arm so he can look at her. “ _ Du bist immer meine erste Wahl _ .” He repeats, slowly, so she can hear the way the syllables are  _ supposed _ to sound. “You’re always my first choice _. _ ” 

Jester tries to swallow her smile, but she can’t. Between kisses and teasing, Bren repeats the phrase, again and again, so she’ll  _ always _ know how to say it. 

Jester is 21, and as she falls asleep, she holds those Zemnian words in her heart. 

_ You’re always my first choice _ . 

* * *

Bren returns to Rexxentrum fighting a smile. 

It isn’t often he comes back here in one piece, usually having to limp his way to some of the healers, if the wounds were sanctioned, or to Astrid, if they weren’t. He winds his way through the marketplace, heading towards the academy. 

He prefers  _ not _ to teleport into the academy if at all possible, there’s usually a fair amount of paperwork he’ll ignore for several weeks until he’s chased down by a pencil pusher in Empire colors bitching about logs, and notes and books. Besides, the walk back takes some time, so he can bury the smile on his face. Though spring is starting to appear, it’s still bitterly cold in the capitol, and he can see his breath as he walks. 

He can’t stop thinking about Jester. 

_ Stop it _ , he tells himself, beginning the long trek up the stairs to the academy.  _ If you walk in there looking fucking  _ happy _ they’ll wonder why. And you can’t lie to all of them.  _

Luckily, walking inside the school has a sobering effect, settling on his shoulders as he gets further inside. His steps echo around him, creating the sense of isolation as he walks. There’s  _ at least _ a couple hundred people in this building, but he senses  _ no one _ . It’s like that on purpose, he thinks, to drive home how  _ alone _ you are here. He remembers walking through those same doors when he was barely fifteen, trying to stay strong against the indifferent shiny stone walls. He remembers Astrid’s work worn hand on his shoulder, a shaky smile on her face. He remembers the way Wulf had ruffled his hair, already nearly a head taller than Bren, even back then. 

_ We earned our place here _ . 

The walk to Ikithon’s office is familiar, and he can count all six hundred and forty eight steps to the door, and the empty desk of his secretary. It’s...strange to see Ikithon’s door not being highly patroled by any of his little spies, and Bren feels his hair stand on the back of his neck.  _ Something...is off _ . The door is closed, but he still takes a couple steps towards it, pressing up against the wall instinctively. There’s Ikithon’s voice, bored and muffled, and another voice, female he might think. There’s only a handful of women who Ikithon would invite to his office, and one of them is on mission right now. 

The woman, whoever she is, is angry, muttering viciously. Bren checks down the hallway, listening for echoing footsteps or hushed voices. Hearing nothing, he takes a few steps back, reaching into his component bags for the small obsidian statue. It’s damn near  _ idiotic _ , trying to spy on his Master, but it doesn’t stop him from casting the spell, his shadow coming to life underneath him. His magic swells in the darkness of his shadow, and he orders it to toe the edge of the door, just close enough that it can peek under the door. 

Bren closes his eyes, letting his senses pass into the darkness, and the muffled voices become much clearer. The woman’s voice is familiar, and he’s fairly certain it’s Lady DeRogna. She sounds  _ angry _ , an emotion he doesn’t normally associate with the Archmage of Antiquities. 

“-thon! You  _ assured _ me I would have something  _ functional _ by now. They’re still basically a  _ child _ .” 

“You think you can create something like my  _ Vollestruckers _ in a handful of months?” Though Ikithon might be genuinely asking this question, his tone is dripping in condescension, and Bren nearly hears Lady DeRogna clenching her jaw. “They take nearly a  _ lifetime _ to temper. You should be thrilled at the progress it’s made already.” 

“You said you had your best on their training.” 

“One of my best, and your little weapon is a  _ side  _ project for her. As you can imagine, we live in traitorous time. They’re constantly busy.” Ikithon sighs, and Bren can hear the sound of cups against wood. “But if you aren’t satisfied with its progress, we could start over.” 

“Pardon?” Lady DeRogna’s voice wavers only slightly, and Bren feels himself clenching his fists. 

“If it’s unsatisfactory, we’ll exterminate it and begin anew. You lose the progress you’ve made, but we can mold it better again.” Master Ikithon explains, as though he’s talking about the weather. “I’ll have her dispatch the current and we can start you a new one. I do appreciate what you’ve given me, and I agreed to make you a functional weapon.” 

“You think she would just kill that child? She’s sunk near a year into its training.” 

“I’ve not known Astrid to be sentimental.” Ikithon responds, his tone amused. “But even if she doesn’t wish to kill them, she’s never disobeyed an order.” 

“Loyalty through manipulation is  _ hardly _ impressive.” 

“So you think.” Ikithon answers. “But tell me, how many of  _ your _ underlings ripped their very roots from this earth? Would they if you had simply ordered them to? Perhaps a slight modification to the memory pushed them, but they still  _ did it.  _ That is  _ true _ loyalty, my dear.” 

Bren freezes, nearly losing his concentration on his spell, heart pounding in his chest.  _ Perhaps a slight modification to the memory pushed them- _

Them.  _ Them _ . Him?! All of them?! Astrid and Wulf and-

He sees, so clearly in his head,  _ that night _ , Graduation. He remembers the way Astrid’s dark eyes had remained fixated on her parents as they choked at the table. Only her parent’s food had been poisoned, but none of them had eaten. He remembers Wulf, softly closing the door behind him as he walked out, wiping the blood off of his blade on his his thigh. They shouldn’t have  _ mourned  _ them, their traitor parents, but they had all still found each other at that Inn, comfort found however they could. Bren can’t remember another time he’d seen tears in Astrid’s eyes, or the trembling in Wulf’s hands. 

All this pain, and it  _ wasn’t true.  _

He’s stunned, that’s why he doesn’t notice the footfalls, the sudden presence at the door. Bren let himself be caught off guard, and that’s how Master Ikithon peeks his head out to see him standing there, the last wisps of his spell disappearing. The instinct to run is overpowering, but it’s only seconds before his body freezes, trapped in the magical snare of his Master’s spell. “Forgive me, Lady DeRogna, I have something I need to take care of. Put another kettle on, won’t you? I won’t be long.”

Bren watches, powerless as Master Ikithon approaches him, displeased line to his frown. “My boy, you should  _ know _ better than to sneak around and  _ spy _ here.”

He’s unable to speak, and he tries to fight against the spell best he can, but his body remains frozen under its hold. “I can’t help but think you’ve been listening this whole time, because who would assume otherwise? I’m almost impressed, but more annoyed.” 

Ikithon grabs Bren’s chin in his hand, pulling so they were making eye contact. “But you don’t  _ spy on your master _ . It’s a shame you won’t remember this lesson, or why your arms are going to  _ ache _ , but I trust you’ll know you deserve it.” 

Ikithon casts a spell, and Bren feels his arms move against but he’s trapped in a thrall, head tilted as he stares at his master, waiting. Ikithon stares into his eyes, voice calm. “I’m not sure how much of that you heard my boy, so let’s be safe. Anything you heard that I wouldn’t want you to hear? Best to just let that slip from your mind, Bren. You went to your mission in Xhorhas, you came back, and now, you’re going to go to your quarters, and not bother me. Tomorrow, you’re going to take the mission in Alfield, and you’re going to stay there until it’s finished, and you’ll be back in a week. Understand?” 

Bren blinks, a heavy confusion resting over his mind. He... _ fuck _ what was he…? He was doing something right? He meets his Master’s eyes, and Ikithon lifts an eyebrow at him. “Dismissed, Bren. I won’t tell you again.”

_ Right _ , right...he…he was going to his quarters. Bren nods curtly, passing his master and heading for the stairs. Right. Of course, of course. He must’ve done something, he just...he can’t remember? That’s right not, he’ll remember, he just needs to give it some time. He’s...his head pounds with each step he takes, until he gets to his door. Resting his head against the wood he takes a deep breath, trying to find comfort in the smell of cedar. 

It’s only a few steps before he’s collapsing into his bed, pillow pulled over his face to block out the light. Even  _ breathing _ seems to hurt his head, and he releases a shaky exhale into the fabric.  _ Breathe, Ermendrud, breathe.  _

Breath after breath, he tries to calm himself down. It might be working, if nothing else he toes the line of sleep, and he blinks as the darkness crawls into his sight- 

_ Hey Bren, _ Astrid’s voice whispers in his head, and he opens one eye in the early morning light.  _ Master Ikithon let me mail Wulf something. I signed your name. Don’t let it distract you. Stay safe, you dipshit. See you soon.  _

Bren massages his forehead, sitting up on his bed. He feels  _ stiff _ this morning, like his body had been through some sorry of ringer. When did he even fall asleep? He coughs, thinking over Astrid’s message.  _ What did she send him something for? Did he miss something?  _ Bren's back straightens. Wulf's birthday--which--which means--

Jester, in her bed, her hair sprawled over her pillow.  _ Be safe. Two weeks. My birthday. _ __   
_ My birthday. _ __   
_   
_ __ My birthday.

Oh  _ fuck _ . 

He flies off the bed, crossing the room in a couple steps. At the bottom of his closet, he moves a panel where he had hidden the gifts he gave Jester, only to find it  _ empty _ . “ _ Fuck what?! _ ”

Did someone  _ steal _ from  _ him _ ?

Who fucking would? Only Wulf or Astrid even know where his room is, and they’ve both been gone for  _ at least  _ two weeks now. A string of curses slip from his mouth, and he runs a hand through his wild hair.  _ Jester is going to be so angry with him _ . 

He thinks of their last fight, the six weeks of bitter silence after their disagreement about her temple, and he groans. His hand trembles as he reaches for his chalk, rolling it around. She hasn’t started yelling at him yet, and that worries him. Jester’s anger can be  _ brutal _ , and he’s not looking forward to having it directed at him again.  _ How could he forget her birthday?! _

Bren sighs, taking a breath and beginning to cast, a heaviness in his chest.  _ She’s going to be so angry with him _ . 

* * *

Jester thinks it’s  _ bullshit _ that it’s so hard to match the color of the ocean with paint. 

There’s at least three different shades of blue at her feet, and three different shades of green, but now matter how many times she tries to mix them together, it  _ never _ looks like the view from her bedroom. On the wall, her mural is almost caught up to the present. She’s working on painting the temple, and the waves that crash below them. It’s calming and infuriating, to see the ocean right outside her window and be unable to recreate it on this wall. “Fuck you, paint.” She mutters, a rueful smile on her face. “I came to do this to _ relax _ , if I had to sit there and read  _ another _ fucking tax form, I was going to lose my mind. I need you to  _ cooperate with me _ .”

“High Priestess?” Jester hears Sam’s voice behind her, and she takes a breath, annoyed at having been caught talking to the paint. She turns and sees Bren standing next to Sam, his eyes firmly on the ground. “He’s here.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Jester dismisses them with a smile, and Bren crosses the room, wrapping her in his arms. “ _ Hiiiiiiiiii Bren _ .”

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds like he’s been choking on glass, and Jester immediately pulls away to look at him. He won’t meet her gaze. “I’m  _ sorry _ .”

“What...what are you sorry for?” She asks, grabbing his face in her hands. He winces, finally meeting her eyes. Jester doesn’t understand how he can only be gone from her for  _ a day _ and when he comes back  _ his people _ have broken him so thoroughly. “You haven’t done anything.”

“I...I missed your birthday, and I’m  _ so sorry _ .” His voice sounds miserable, and Jester wonders if for a second he might be playing a trick on her, but the way he lightly trembles under her hands makes her think he’s... _ afraid _ . “I even got you a gift, I swear, I just...someone fucking  _ stole _ it from me.”

“No...you didn’t?”

He narrows his eyes at her, his hands cover hers, pulling them away from her face. “Jester, you don’t have to fuck with me.”

“I’m  _ not _ ! You were  _ at _ my birthday, I got your gifts, they’re...they’re amazing. Do you  _ not _ remember?”

“That isn’t-”

“You were here just a little more than a day ago...I’m pretty sure my pillows  _ still _ smell like you.” She narrows her eyes, and he looks like he might be  _ angry _ , but he swallows the response and Jester frowns. “Come with me.” 

She takes his hand, leading him towards her room. He follows her, but there’s a slight resistance to his steps, like he’s nervous about what she’s leading him too. Jester is...she doesn’t want to think it, if she doesn’t have to, but she wonders about  _ this _ . Bren doesn’t forget  _ anything _ , there’s been at  _ least _ thirty different conversations she can think of where Bren has used her  _ exact  _ words against her. She squeezes his hand, grateful for the squeeze back she gets, but she can’t stop thinking about what it  _ means _ if Bren can’t remember  _ being here _ . 

_ You’re always my first choice _ . 

Jester drags Bren across her room, to the table at the side of her bed, and she pulls out the cinnamon and the jar of purple honey. He pales as he reaches for them, fingers trembling as he does. She watches him carefully, eyes bouncing between the gifts and his face. “You don’t remember this.” It’s not a question, and he sighs, putting them back in her hands. 

“No, but...I’m sure there’s a reason…”

Jester laughs, but it sounds  _ off _ , even to her ears. “A  _ reason _ .”

“Jester.” His tone is warning, but the usual confidence doesn’t make it to his eyes. “This...sometimes...I work for... _ some things I shouldn’t know _ .”

“...You don’t remember anything, do you?” Jester asks, sadly. She thinks of their night, the way he’d held her, the way he’d  _ finally _ let her in, the way he’d told her… “You don’t remember anything.”

“I’m sure they had a reason-”

“Don’t you want to know?” Jester asks, her heart breaking a little as she wrings her hands together. Bren sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t you  _ care _ that you lost an entire day?! You  _ never _ forget  _ anything _ . Why isn’t this bothering you?! Do you- Do you remember giving me permission to love you?”

Bren flinches, eyes looking to her and then her door, and Jester’s heart breaks. “I...Jester, I  _ don’t know what you’re talking about _ .”

“Okay.” Jester swallows the sadness trying to drown her. She pulls in a shaky breath, trying to pretend this is just another case, another random problem she’s trying to deal with, like it’s not breaking her heart. “Okay, okay, okay, okay...I saw you about a day ago, you said you had to get back to work, and then you left. What do you remember?”

“I…I was in Xhorhas. I saw...I saw Alice there, she was in Asarias, and then...I was back in the capital, I met with...and I got my next mission, I just...I must’ve gone to sleep.”

“ _ Must’ve _ ? You don’t  _ know _ ?!”

“ _ I’m trying _ .” He hisses at her, rubbing his temple. “I’ve got a massive headache.”

“Bren.” Her voice is  _ hard _ , and she hears it as she speaks. She hasn’t been this angry since she found those scars on his chest, the scars that  _ his people  _ gave him. He winces at the sound of her voice, there’s something...sharp...in there. “How often does this happen? Do you get your memories  _ back _ ?”

He looks at her, his jaw setting and his shoulders squaring up, like he’s getting ready to  _ defend _ himself. “I don’t... I don’t  _ know _ , Jester. I work for some...important people.”

So, he’s got an idea of what she’s thinking. “How often does this happen?”

“I  _ wouldn’t know _ , would I?” He shrugs, like it doesn't matter, like he  _ doesn’t care _ about what he’s lost. Why would he, Bren doesn’t  _ remember _ what he’s lost, what happened that night-  _ You’re always my first choice _ . 

“I can help you remember.” She offers, eyebrows knitting together. “I can show you what you’re missing because…”  _ Because you told me it was okay to love you, because you told me you wanted to love me back _

“If it’s gone, I’m not supposed to know it.” He shrugs, like the fact that he’s lost an entire day means  _ nothing _ to him. Jester takes a breath, trying to temper the anger flaring underneath her sorrow. 

“Don’t you _ care? _ That you have no idea what happened? Are you not  _ curious _ about what I said when you gave me those gifts? Aren’t you wondering how you got those hickies!? Bren do you really  _ not _ want to know?”  _ Do you really not want me? _

Bren sits down on her bed, scrubbing his hand across his face. There’s something  _ off _ in his face, and Jester tries not to hold it against him, but she can’t...she’s so fucking  _ angry _ . She clenches her fists, trying to school her face into something calm, something  _ neutral _ , something she’s never been. She runs a hand through his hair, so he looks up at her. “Jester I…”

“ _ Du bist immer meine erste Wahl _ .” She whispers, her eyes never leaving his. Bren flinches, his hand reaching up to find hers, and he laces their fingers together. 

“How did you-”

“ _ You _ taught it to me. You were next to me in bed, and you whispered it to me, again and again until I could pronounce it right.  _ Du bist immer meine erste Wahl _ . You’re  _ my _ first choice, Bren, and I  _ was _ yours. Can you...can you just  _ trust _ me this one time?  _ Please _ .”

“I  _ do _ trust you-”

“Do you?” Jester hates how  _ painful _ her voice sounds, but she keeps her eyes on his. “Because if you actually do, I need you to let me  _ try _ to get the memory back,  _ please _ .”

“I...Jester you’re  _ wrong,  _ it’s not what you think-”

“Then let me do this! If I’m  _ wrong _ , then you can hate me if you want. There’s no way you lose here.”

Bren’s hand pulls from hers, and he pops his knuckles, thinking. “...Okay.” His voice is barely a whisper, and it takes her a moment to realize he’s even spoken.

“Okay?”

“Ja. You can...you can try.” He looks up at her, his eyes hard, like he’s expecting her to trick him. Jester takes a breath, pressing her lips to his forehead. 

She grabs her holy symbol, trying to focus on the comfort of its weight in her hands, rather than Bren’s defensive stare. She takes another breath, asking the Traveler to help her with this one, especially, to make sure whatever she knocks down doesn’t... _ ruin _ whatever  _ they’ve _ surrounded his memories with. Her whispered words seem to echo in her room, and Bren sucks in a breath as he feels the magic push against him. Jester feels the magic settle, and then wrap around the block, and she feels it disappear, as though it disintegrated in her hands. 

Bren recoils like he’s been  _ hit _ , his hands pressing against his head. There’s a string of curses in varying languages leaving his lips, and he stands, almost knocking her over. “ _ Goddamn it _ , fuck!”

“Bren-”

“ _ Don’t _ .” He snarls at her, his eyes on her. He looks  _ wild _ in that moment, one hand pressed to his head. “Don’t fucking talk, not right now.”

“I-”

“ _ Jester not fucking now _ .” He growls at her, and she recoils a little. This isn’t...this isn’t just one day he’s lost, this is something  _ much bigger _ . 

“Bren what did they-”

He pushes past her, heading for the door, and Jester turns on her heel following him out. “Hey! Don’t just walk away! Bren what happened-”

“I have a mission.” His voice is clipped, and Jester stops in her tracks. “I have to go.”

“You can’t be serious! You can’t just  _ go _ back to them! They lied to you, didn’t they!? Or am  _ I _ wrong and you  _ weren’t _ here on my birthday-”

“This is  _ bigger _ than that, Jester, I have to go-”

“Why! Why would you go  _ back _ to them?! After they  _ lied _ to you, and they keep-”

“You don’t  _ fucking _ understand, and I’m starting to think you’re never  _ going  _ to.” He keeps walking and Jester slams her fist against the wall, cracks erupting from the impact. Bren stops walking then, turning to look back at her. He  _ seems _ fine, seems calm, but there’s something  _ manic _ in his eyes, it’s unsettling, but she stands her ground.

“Running away isn’t going to fix fucking anything, Bren. You...You remember what you told me right? That it’s  _ okay _ if I love you? So  _ let me _ , I want to help you, but I  _ can’t _ if you keep running back to them! They’re going to-”

_ They’re going to kill you, and I want you to leave them. _

Bren stares at her, with that manic look in his eyes, and he tilts his head. “Oh Jester, you’re so fucking wrong about so many things. I’m sorry I don’t fucking  _ fit _ the boxes you need me to. I’m not going to be anything but what they made me. I can’t  _ be _ better. I’ve done...You don’t understand, you’re  _ never _ going to understand. You need to-”

“Bren,  _ shut up for a second _ .” Jester takes her hand down from the wall, ignoring the blood left behind on the wall. “They  _ lied _ , and they keep  _ hurting _ you, I’m not…” Jester swallows, eyes trained on him. “I don’t  _ care _ if you’re  _ over _ this, but you  _ can’t _ go back to them. They’re going to kill you.”

“ _ Kill me _ .” He laughs, and it’s the most broken sound in the world. “I’m the  _ killer _ , Jester. The Assembly hasn’t made me into one, I  _ always was _ . I have to go.”

“If you leave, you’re going to die.” Jester’s voice is empty, the futility of the situations falling on her shoulders. She blinks, tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. Not for this, not for  _ him _ , for this creature in front of her. “Don’t make me mourn you.”

“I...can’t. I can’t  _ do _ this. I can’t…” Bren stares at her, and it looks like there might be a spark of who he  _ was _ in his eyes, but it disappears as he blinks, and keeps walking. “Don’t...don’t talk to me anymore Jester. I can’t...I can’t do this anymore. Not now.”

Jester watches Bren leave, only a handful of steps more before he’s gone in a flash of arcane light, and she’s left alone in a temple that suddenly feels cold around her. She takes careful breaths, the tears in her eyes finally spilling over, and she turns back towards the sanctuary, towards her mural, and she kneels down in front of it. 

_ Endings, _ She thinks.  _ You never realize when the ending starts.  _

* * *

Bren stumbles out of the heretic temple, his hands covered in blood. 

It changes  _ nothing _ , all this death, all this blood, all these bodies, all this pain. 

_ Perhaps a slight modification to the memory pushed them, but they still did it. That is true loyalty, my dear. _

_ If I want to love you, would you let me? _

_ I know what you’re thinking, and you would never survive it. I know you think you’re strong, but you couldn’t kill me, and you couldn’t kill Astrid, and he would send us after you. _

_ I’m really just worried, you see. You kids are basically my own, I’ve watched you grow up, and I can’t help but notice how you’re weaker lately. How you hesitate, how you struggle, how you choke to death on your own blood and accept it. No no, my boy, you won’t let me down.  _

_ You have to say goodbye, or you’ll be forced to. Don’t let him take that from you _

_ So I just want you to know, that when we gave you the same odds you gave her, we were better than you. We are better than you. _

He takes a couple steps, towards the Empire, towards the gates, back towards Rexxentrum, but then he stops, and stand there, hand pressed to broken ribs. 

His father’s face, his mother’s smile, their love of the Empire, the conversation that damned them erased from his head with Jester’s spell. 

_ You aren’t salvageable, you aren’t good, you aren’t worth saving. You were a monster before he could make you one.  _

He takes a few more steps before he collapses on the side of the road, the dewy grass pressing against his warm face as he tries to stay awake. He attempts to get up once, but his vision goes black and he falls back into the dirt, taking a deep breath. Maybe there are more answers in the darkness, and he lets himself drift. Bren sees flashes of memories, some of them familiar, some of them new, flooding his senses since Jester ripped down those walls in his head. It’s her voice he hears, before everything finally goes black. 

_ No, but this is fate, isn’t it. I was always going to kill you, someday _

_ If anyone could, I’ll believe it’s you _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fucking oooooof you guys. There were several ways this could've gone, you know? My original plan was actually much sadder than this but we didn't expect this to be happy, right? These two were never going to be able to make it work, right? Anyways, let me know what you think!
> 
> youcanreplytothispain.


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